


Snoogle

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Pregnancy, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franken Stein refused to accept being replaced. Especially by Marie's Death-damned pregnancy pillow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snoogle

He understood why the thing existed; he even understood why it existed in his home, considering it was inevitable. Marie was so far into her pregnancy, not complaining of aching but absolutely uncomfortable, that he knew she would have dragged something else into their bed.

But it was humiliating, really, to feel inferior to a pillow.

Not just any pillow, either. Some strange, squiggly thing that she started to cuddle up to at night instead of him. And so, yes, he was thankful that he didn’t wake up in a chokehold, struggling to breathe as his pregnant wife nuzzled him. And, also true was the fact that he was relatively happy at the fact that he no longer had to sweat up a storm when Marie, who somehow became a furnace during the course of her pregnancy, would cling onto his torso and not let go, as though she were covered in glue.

But standing there, looking at her gently laying down on her side, supporting her heavily bloated belly and curling up to the pillow, that was still a low blow. He breathed in hard through his nose, looking to the side.

On one hand, the relief: good God, that could have been him, having to act as a living cushion, being squished and tugged and practically melted and strangled.

On the other hand: that could have been him.

No. He absolutely did not miss cuddling. He hated cuddling. Cuddling was pointless.

But Marie was warm.

And it had started getting colder in Death City, the desert getting freezing at night. Also, very cushy. Not to mention she always smelled like vanilla and he kind of liked laying his head down upon her chest and managing to get a decent night’s sleep for once.

Nonetheless, she looked content, and that was good enough.

…But he kind of missed the feeling of her wavelength being filtered against his bare skin, flesh to flesh with Marie, her soft hair across his shoulders, her lotioned hands stroking his arm. She had softened out even more with her pregnancy, thighs thickening, breasts swelling: she was comfortable, so sue him, he liked curling around her.

It felt natural.

But now his space on the bed, the bed he bought in his own home, was taken up by that intruder. Damn that fucking pillow.

And it wasn’t enough for her to bring a different snuggly buddy into her (THEIR, damnit, THEIR) bed, no, she had to flop over to the very middle, leaving him in a contest for space in which he always lost. That pillow had beaten him for the last time. He refused to be bested by some cotton stuffed with more cotton.

Almost casually, he moseyed over to the bed after stripping out of his usual slacks and changing into a pair of old workout pants. When he laid down, Marie tried to make space for him by wriggling around, but, ultimately, that pillow still took up the majority of the mattress and by Stein’s calculations, (which were absolutely correct, he has a PhD, he’s credible enough) was not large enough for three.

One of them had to go and it wasn’t going to be Marie.

Good thing for him, he was actually alive. And in possession of limbs that could rather easily shove inanimate objects off the side of the bed, thus securing his position, both on the bed and as the husband. He had that right. The pillow did not have that right. The pillow would never have that right.

Nonetheless, he settled onto his side, gently pushing Marie’s hair away. Months into her pregnancy had brought what would usually go a quarter of the way down her back to at least the middle of her back, and so he preferred to set it over her shoulder. He didn’t like getting a mouthful of golden locks, no matter how much he wanted to get the bed-invader out of his life.

He set a chapped kiss to her shoulder, and Marie, already sleepy, made a soft noise of contentment, snuggling backward.

Oh, no. No way. She couldn’t get the best of both worlds. That was called having an affair, in his book, and considering she had a reputation for literally smashing things to dust at the first signs of them even having the possibility of cheating on her sometime in the future, he figured he was at least entitled to that much.

Fine then, if she wouldn’t give the pillow up the easy way, there were other methods he could utilize.

Carefully, he wrapped an arm around her, supporting her as best he could while shimmying backwards. She made a confused sound, her eye opening, neck turning to look at him, but the battle had already been won. She had been dislodged from that monstrosity of bedding, and was, instead, pressing her back against his chest, the curve of her backside settling against his hips. She was so small, he could rest his chin atop her head, but refrained for the sake of keeping her in good spirits.

Slowly, she twined their legs together, tangling them up and pressing her cheek to his arm.

It was at that moment that he chose to strike. With the tact of a man who had been a war general, he extended one particularly long leg, sneaking it across the bed before he kicked the body pillow, watching with baleful eyes as it rolled off the side of the bed and made a sad thump against his floors.

Success.

Marie made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. “For the love of- Franken!”

He refused to respond, only stroking her side and smugly grinning, knowing that, at least for that night, she was going to spend a blissful, pillow-less night. And he was finally going to be able to exist without having to contend for her attention with a sad excuse for a bed-mate.

She had a husband right there. The pillow was useless. He’d done multiple tests on it, determining which of them was better, and though the pillow was, admittedly, more plush, he excelled in nearly every other category, particularly the “living” and “breathing” ones.

Marie rolled her eye to the back of her head, swatting him on the forearm. “At least come to the other side of the bed,” she commanded, always preferring to have something to hug in her cuddling.

Wordlessly, he dislodged his hold on her, getting up and moving around their mattress, purposefully kicking the pillow.

Insult to injury. Stein: 2. Pillow: 0. By his count (and he DOES have a PhD) that was a win for him.

Marie looked amused when he plopped down on the other side of the bed, facing her.

“Honestly,” she started, “you don’t have to be so jealous-“

“I am not jealous,” he insisted, cutting her off immediately, though it did nothing to wipe the smug, knowing smile that was twitching on her lips.

“Oh?” she asked.

“Oh,” he responded, wrapping an arm around her and allowing her to sidle in close, her body heat already making him sweat. He had the good sense not to wear a shirt, but he was considering ditching the pants, too.

It was obvious she didn’t believe him at all, but she also didn’t push, only giggling at how ridiculous he was, to be in competition with glorified fabric.

“If it’s any consolation, Franken, I like you far more than the pillow,” she assured, her hands glowing gold as she stroked down his spine. Carefully, he scooted down so he could rest his head on her chest, his “Good” muffled by her breasts, and Marie laughed, lying back and enjoying the feeling of Stein’s rough palms rubbing her sides, his soul flaring up as though to envelop her’s and their baby’s, Ein’s.

He’d like to see the damn Body Pillow do that.

Stein: 3. Pillow: 0.

Victory was sweet.


End file.
